


Heat

by Aetherrryn



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sauna, Semi-Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 09:04:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21389608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aetherrryn/pseuds/Aetherrryn
Summary: noun1.the quality of being hot; high temperature.2.intensity of feeling,
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Edelgard von Hresvelg, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Edelgard von Hresvelg
Comments: 19
Kudos: 135





	Heat

**Author's Note:**

> So, Saunas were added to 3H, huh?

The moon had risen, a somber azure glow peaked through a mist of darkened clouds. The scent of rain still lingered in the air, the sodden earth damp from the prior deluge. The threat of another downpour still lingered in the chilled atmosphere.

A solitary woman crept through along a silent path, shivering faintly as she moved, eager to seek warmth and banish the frost from her bones. The Ethereal Moon was on the horizon, and with it crept the cold of winter. It was fortunate that it did not snow here in the monastery, far from the frigid north. She could not suffer it, southern woman that she was. 

A stillness descended—the stillness of a fallen night, wherein the rest of the monastery had departed to their rooms to close their eyes and find comfort in their slumber. She might have been one of them, but of late, she had taken to sneaking out of her dorm in the dunnest hour of night when sleep failed to weigh her lids. 

And so again it was this night that alone that she traversed the vast monastery grounds and made one certain place her destination of choice. Where better to find a balm for her spirit and rest for her body than in the soothing heat of the sauna?

And with no one to tell her otherwise, she could keep the temperature to her liking without the risk of falling victim to overheating. Some liked it very hot. Petra could, for instance, continue smiling and chatting without a shred of care for the blistering temperatures that she inflicted upon others. Following a few occurrences in which students were brought to the infirmary, fewer and fewer had deigned to join the foreign princess on her excursions. 

Regardless, the building was hers and hers alone. Few souls were so full of unrest as hers when the sun dipped below the horizon, fewer remained wakeful. 

Thus she climbed the stairs alone, keeping her steps light, still just slightly fearful of catching someone’s attention, her ears straining for sounds other than her own breath puffing from her lips. There was naught save for the gentle rustling of the wind whispering through the trees. 

The young woman slipped inside the darkened building, sighing in relief at having successfully traversed the grounds without garnering anyone’s concern. Her stiffness melted away and she stepped in further, breathing in the scent of wood and the faintest aroma of smoke. The crackling of the fire could be heard, gentle sparks of sound. 

She began to pull at her clothing, eager to shed the weight and delve into the warmth.

Piece by piece, the layers of her attire fell to the floor, divested without hesitation, without a care for propriety. After all, there was no presence but her own, no one to see the curtain of her façade fall away. She allowed herself to breathe, to care nothing for the burdens of her station—not in this moment.

She shivered as the air whispered along her bare skin, pausing only to sweep the fabric pooled on the ground to the side, out of the way. 

Without a moment of hesitation, the young woman traveled on, swiftly slipping into the heated room within. A breath of relief escaped her lips upon the warmth that suddenly enveloped her. She felt weightless, unburdened. 

A faint red glow drifted from the coals and a dim light from a brazier gave her just enough to see by. The young woman moved further in, her feet padding against the wood. A bucket full of water and a ladle—she sighed and dipped it in, pouring a generous stream over the stones. At once, steam hissed into the air, a pleasant burn tingling along her skin. A little more—and she determined that this was her preferred temperature.

Without delay, she clambered to the highest loft and stretched her body across the shelf. Lying prone, she folded her arms beneath her head and closed her eyes, content to enjoy the silence and the comforting swell of warmth. 

//////////////

He rubbed his arm, wincing at the soreness in his shoulders. It had been a physically taxing day and an ache seemed to pervade his whole body. Perhaps he should take his vassal’s words to heart and learn to moderate his drive to train ceaselessly. Strength was fine, but the toll it took on his health was surely less so.

He had not anticipated having remained there so long, had not even noticed when shadow had swallowed the world outside, so enthralled had he been by his toil. He could not deny that exhaustion tugged on his eyelids and slowed the pace of his gait, nor could he deny that the comfort of his bed seemed all too appealing at the moment. Before that, however, he wanted to rest his weary muscles and soothe the tension in his body. 

The young man had seen not a soul on his way, and thus it was without fear that he trekked into the sauna, already working at the buckles on his uniform. A lengthy sigh swelled from his chest as he pushed his half-cape from his shoulder, fatigue gnawing at his mind. 

There was just the smallest niggling desire to eschew attending his class and merely sleep his fill on the morrow. Of course he would not do so, but he could not deny that it was a tempting notion.

He folded his garments neatly and laid them atop a shelf, brushing a hand through his hair. For a moment, he remained in place, simply listening to the sparking flames, enjoying the soft sound—and the absence of others. It was near silent, a pleasant reprieve from the bustling noise that pervaded the days at the monastery. The earth had laid down to slumber, and with it, its denizens had done the same. 

The man ran his hand down his face and took a breath, turning slowly to the door behind which the heat was enclosed. He swiftly stepped through, closing it behind him to conserve the temperature. 

At once, warmth embraced his form, a pleasant contrast to the deepening chill that followed with night’s descent. Steam kissed his skin and he allowed a groan of relief to pass through his lips, stretching his arms above his head—relaxed.

Yet, something broke the silence. A sharp intake of air, like the hiss of an arrow whizzing past. His eyes flicked open and darted through the dimness of the chamber.  
And they met with a pair of wide lavender orbs. 

////////////////

She remained frozen. Her gaze remained locked, for if it had strayed just a tad, she would be greeted with an eyeful of bare flesh. She was not sure yet which was worse—averting her gaze in shame, or steadily maintaining contact. 

Of all people, it just had to be him. The gods were surely taunting her. Testing the limit of her patience with their willful turns of fate. Her peace was not supposed to have been thwarted in this manner. 

It was he that broke the trance—a choked sound broke through his lips and he turned his head away, her name dripping from his tongue in a bewildered astonishment. In his state of alarm, the man mistakenly stumbled back—and promptly lost his footing.

A cry of muted panic tore through her throat and she jolted upright, her eyes growing wide. It had seemed as though he had knocked his head against the door as he had fallen—and truly the last she had thought to deal with was a nude, unconscious man blocking the only exit.

But she heard a quiet groan and determined that he had not lost his consciousness. Edelgard bit her lip, raising an arm to cover her chest with, and peered over the lofts. “Are you…alright?” Her voice seemed almost too loud in the silence that had followed—too intrusive. 

It had been a mistake, she realized, to look. Her gaze had wandered against her conscious will, and immediately the sight of his bare form was imprinted into her memory. There seemed to be a flush of warmth to her cheeks, only amplified by the heat surrounding her. 

Whatever complicated feelings she had towards the man, there was absolutely no denying the beauty of his physique. She felt almost guilty, ogling him as she was whilst he was sprawled on the floor, perhaps agonized. It was neither fair, nor decent. 

She watched as he achingly pushed himself up, a grimace painted across his countenance, and she wondered if perhaps he had hurt himself badly, and whether or not to help him. The man gingerly raised a hand to the back of his head and managed a nod. “Yes.” He answered at last, a wry chuckle breaking free. “It would take more than a simple mishap to fell me, I fear.” 

The woman huffed a laugh before she realized that she had, inwardly cursing herself. She cleared her throat, pushing aside a wad of silvery hair, realizing that a layer of sweat had begun to slick her skin. The warmth was almost oppressive, constant and heavy. “It is late to be wandering about.” Her voice sounded lower than she had meant it to, like a sensual drawl. 

“I could say the same to you.” He stood up slowly, and she watched, noting how weighted his actions were. “Shall I go? You were here before me, after all.” The man angled himself in such a way as to bar the nakedness of his figure from her sight. 

“No.” She found herself answering, to her own astonishment. There was something…enticing, illicitly so, about sharing the warmth of the sauna with him. “You need not. There is plenty of space.” The woman raised her chin, unwilling to be timid, nor shamed.

He hesitated, his azure gaze darting to her own briefly, before dancing away once again. It seemed as though he were pondering whether or not to depart, or to bask in the comfort of the warmth. The state of their undress undoubtedly was the factor that gave him pause. 

He stirred, presumably having made his choice. Her eyes followed his motions as he stalked to the bed of stones. He did not look at her as he added another heaping ladle of water—and steam hissed furiously. 

Her eyes shut as the burning vapor scorched her skin, a breath breaking through her teeth. Something trickled down her nose and she hurriedly wiped it away. Another wrathful noise and another wave of scorching heat. The woman groaned and covered her face, barely able to take in the scathing air. 

Only a moment longer could she bear the intensity. She scampered from the loft and settled on the lowest bench, seeking shelter from the swelling heat. Sweat laced her hair, dampening and leaving it sticking to her skin. She regretted not having tied it up. 

Oh—Sothis—it was warm. Too warm. Hot. Sweltering. A wavering breath shivered from her mouth. 

She forced open her eyes, her gaze flicking upward.

His eyes were shut, his jaw clamped tightly—his brows were knit together. Sweat glistened on his skin. His chest rose and fell in brisk, shallow motions. His eyes opened into a narrow squint, and again, he scooped water, poured it over the stones.

She bent lower and made a sound, and heard his steps thud as he joined her on the bench.

It hurt to push air through her nose and she gulped it down, swallowed breath after breath of dry, hot air. And she heard him too, heard his deep, heavy sighs, and dared to peek at him through her fingers. 

He sat hunched over, his elbows resting on his knees, his face obscured by locks of golden hair. 

And her gaze strayed. 

Her eyes lingered on the tight swell of his biceps, traveled to the lean musculature of his chest, the rigidity of his thighs, the droplets that trickled down the curve of his spine and rolled between the crevice of—

She jolted. 

Never had she been a stranger to physical attractiveness, nor to his, particularly. And neither had she ever felt so drawn to it, been close enough to reach out and touch it.  
Touch him.

Her heart felt aflame, her chest felt tight, and her mind seemed dazed. It seemed that a trance had befallen her, a foul enchantment—the heat had gone to her head. The sudden fervor was a product of the steam, the warmth—and naught at all to do with—

Longing. A forbidden, illicit desire. 

No—she was not allowed such things. She had never been permitted such things. 

And was that not what made them all the more tempting? A child would strive only more for something they had been told they could not have. She was not a child. Surely. She was a woman grown, and she knew better than to reach for a flame. She knew that it would scald her.

But when that flamed burned so bright, beautiful in its glory, and so very near. What was she to do but grasp it? 

Her fingers skimmed his arm. Hot. Burning. He was a live flame. She supposed that made her a moth, drawn to its light. 

She felt him grow stiff at her touch, saw his head turn, saw a blue eye behind a curtain of gold, wary and watchful. But she did not falter. She trailed her touch down his arm, her eyes following the curve of his muscle, marveling in the beauty of his form. 

It twitched beneath her palm, tightening and relaxing, and she raised her gaze to his once more. 

His throat bobbed as he swallowed; his jaw clenched. “El?” He bit out her name, uncertainty coloring his tone. He was still; perhaps afraid to move. 

Her touch was slow, methodical; she rested her palm atop his thigh. It was slick with his sweat and trembled faintly. “Dimitri,” His name coiled off her tongue, drifted with the steam. “Can you…keep a secret?” Her voice became a mist—a vague whisper, and her fingers tapped against his skin. 

He shifted, turning to face her. 

“Promise me.”

A breath. A hand fell over her own. “I promise.” As quiet as she had spoken came the soft response. 

It was all she needed. 

The woman rose, moved to stand before him, and she took his chin in her hand, roving her gaze down his figure, drinking in every last detail. The fluttering of his golden lashes, the slight parting of his lips—lower, the curls that lined below his navel, the growing member between his legs.

Her tongue flicked out and wet her chapped lips. Hot. Everywhere. It was stifling. And it was not enough. 

The woman turned and swiftly gripped the ladle, swallowing thickly as she poured yet another flood over the smoldering stones. 

Everything burned and burned and burned, and she turned and found him watching. The heat enveloped her, scalding on every side, unavoidable, inescapable, and his eyes roved her form, greedy, hungry. 

An ache swelled between her legs. Pulsing, pleading. Without a word, she rested her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back, back until he was flush against the edge of the loft above him. The peaks on her breasts seemed to tighten, and she pressed in closer, edging between his legs. 

Her head swam, light, dizzy from the all-encompassing heat. And still she jolted. His lips encircled the tip of her breast; his breath puffing against her skin, dry, warm air. His mouth was warm; his tongue was warm. Her fingers tightened around his shoulders, her nails digging crescents into his skin. 

Sweat trickled between her breasts, a stream writhing down her body. Every inch of her felt sticky, wet. 

Her fingers trailed up his neck, coiling in the sodden strands of his hair, limp and half-stuck to his scalp, and she gripped them, keeping his gaze. He toyed with her, suckling, biting, his eyes half-closed. His hands hand found her hips; his thumbs pressed into the pliant flesh. 

It had risen to its full height, standing proudly between his legs, leaning against his belly. It was long, longer than she had imagined. 

She turned her gaze back to him, to his eyes, as he shared his attention with the other breast, tonguing the stiff peak, and his hands dove lower. She felt him palm her backside, grip the weighted flesh, his hands calloused. 

How much longer was she to wait? This was not some farce of a romance; this was nothing but lust. Pent-up frustration. How could he look at her with those eyes—full of adoration and—

Longing.

The same longing she desired to push away, disregard.

Discomfort, fear, welled in her chest and she looked away, stepping back. Her fingers unfurled, withdrew. But he did not release her.

“El,” He murmured, tugging her closer, curling his arm around her, enclosing her in his embrace. “This is…our secret.” Her words had been turned against her—but she understood. This was their secret, their forbidden affair. Whatever doubts had lingered seemed to fade, and she nodded, looking at him again. 

He skimmed his touch down her legs, his rough palms roaming her skin, down and up, wandering the breadth of her, as far as he could reach. His lips met her belly, pressed kisses down the expanse of flesh, hot, breathy, panted pecks. She was melting.

Her palms were flush against his chest, slick with his sweat and her own, mingling. She dragged them down, found the pert peaks and thumbed them, half-delirious. 

“El,” She heard him breathe, felt his lips move against her skin. “I want to kiss you.” He told her, his voice strained, wrought with a desperate plea. She bit her tongue and did not meet his eyes, trailing one hand to the twitching flesh below. His breath hitched and he tensed as her fingers curled around him, as her thumb rubbed gently against the crown—and his head fell against her belly. 

A kiss. That was too much. Too much. It was too pure, too loving. It meant too much. Even if she wanted him to kiss her. 

Her hair felt like webs plastered to her back, everything seemed to have gone aflame. Heat. Too much heat. Not enough. 

He shivered and moaned with every gentle tug, every time she ran her finger over the small slit, and with every sound that escaped him, the throb in her core grew. She pressed her legs together and clamped her teeth shut. “You are too loud.” She hissed, pulling roughly at his flesh, and he jerked, crying aloud.

His eyes flicked upward, his brows furrowing, and for a moment she thought that she had affronted him. 

The thought was banished. 

Suddenly, she was heaved upward, a panicked breath passing through her lips as the floor disappeared below her, nothing but a pair of arms below her backside to steady her. Her arms curled around his neck and she grew stiff as suddenly she was raised into the stifling heat of the upper levels. 

He lowered her, resting her on the loft above the one he had been seated upon, kneeling on it now. Wordlessly, he pushed her legs apart and lowered his head between them—and she flinched, her fingers curling in his hair, pulling him away. “Dimitri!” She hissed, both frightened and exhilarated. Her feeble protest did not sway him; his hands remained clamped on her thighs, his eyes remained locked upon her gaze and he swept his tongue over her.

She could not keep still. She shifted and tightened her grip, one hand clenched in his hair, the other curled around the edge of the bench. His tongue was warm, wet, fleshy as it lapped against her folds, as it coiled around the hidden peak and coaxed it out. She felt that he might burn her, that she might truly burst into flame and turn to ash as he pressed his mouth to her and suckled.

And she keened, the strength lost in her arms. 

There had been silence. Now it had been filled—by the sounds of her quiet groans, by the gentle, slick sounds as he laved her with his tongue. Again and again, and he probed his tongue through her folds, and she gasped, fearing that she would tear his hair from his head.

Too loud, she had chastised. This was his retribution. 

A strange feeling began to overwhelm her, drifting through her mind, echoing through her body, surging through her core. A driving need for release—a storm that had been building, pent up. 

She struggled against his hands, wishing to curl her legs around him, press him closer, force him closer. She rocked against him as well as he would allow her, his name panted through her mouth. He did not relent; he was merciless. 

It was far too warm. Far too warm. It was blazing. Everything was—

A jagged, broken gasp tumbled off her lips and she stiffened—and went slack. Her fingers lost their strength, resting limply between the golden strands. Her lungs seemed to burn with every heaving breath she swallowed, her throat dry, scorched. 

His palms glided down her thighs, and she felt him settle between them. Lamely, she raised her eyes, half-closed as she sagged against the overheated wooden bench. Would there be scorch marks on her back tomorrow? Or everywhere?

He searched her gaze, seeming hesitant, but her lips curved into a haughty smile and she tossed him a nod. 

Edelgard pushed herself up and shuffled to the very edge of the bench, reaching out to grip his shoulders. His hands scoured her waist, settling on her hips. He blew out a breath—hot as it swept across her skin, and pressed in.

She felt him slide inside, felt him move deeper and deeper, invading in a way more intimate than she had ever imagined. Another harsh breath and he lowered his head, looming over her, and he rested his forehead on her shoulder. His hands slid from her hips and came to rest on either side of her, and he was still, buried as far as she would allow.  
Her palms dragged across his skin, climbing to the flat of his back. She trailed a finger down his spine and laughed, pressing herself flush against him. 

He moved away, slowly—agonizingly slowly. A gaping emptiness remained where he had been, and she pressed closer, wanting it filled again. His gasping breaths whispered across her back in waves of heated air. She dug her nails into him, urging him to move—to cease the endless torment. 

Like an ornery stallion, he bucked forward—swift, sharp, and she cried out, surprised. Stallions could be broken. She raked her fingers down his back, delighted to feel his back arch inward, feel the hiss of pain scrape past his throat. 

The woman growled his name; a warning. Too slow. 

At last he lifted his head and met her gaze, his eyes narrowed, his brows furrowed, his lips set into a tight line. It seemed that he too had a limit to his patience. And she had goaded him too much. 

She could but gasp as he tore her hands away and pressed them both to the wall behind them—and yet another sharp breath. The wall was searing and she struggled against his grip. There was nothing to bar her nakedness from his vision—she had been made vulnerable, and it made her uneasy.

His jaw tightened and he moved within her, his gaze steady upon her own, defiant to her commands and whims. She returned it, raising her chin, her eyes flashing with indignant arrogance, and she curled her legs about his waist—locking him in place. 

Her back thumped against the wall with every thrust, a blistering heat touching her skin—and she strained to keep from touching it. 

Her eyes traveled his figure as he worked against her, marveling in the way his muscles tensed and loosened, entranced by the shimmering beads of sweat that trickled down the planes of his chest. Her gaze fell to the place that they were joined, watching as though enthralled as he slipped in and out with ease in an unshakable rhythm. 

She recalled how Dorothea had complained of her first coupling—how uncomfortable, disappointing it had been. This was nothing like the nightmarish joining she had envisioned—a stiff, loveless union on her marriage bed.

This was passion, fire, a desire that threatened to consume her rational mind. It was addicting. It was a poison—the sweetest poison. 

Through a half-lidded gaze, she watched his lips, licking her own in anticipation, in a frightening craving. They were parted faintly, coated in a sheen of sweat. She wanted to taste them, feel them—gods damn the implication. 

“Kiss—me.” She groaned, rejecting the ideals that had kept her grounded. She wanted to soar, if only for this moment. “Dimitri—,” Her voice broke as a whimper interceded.  
She need not have asked again. His grip fell from her wrists and the man surged forward—his mouth crashing against her own in a mad frenzy, a burning ardor that had devoured them both. 

Salt stung her tongue.

Everything was hot. Wet. His mouth was an all-consuming flame, and the words that tumbled from his lips struck her core as would a glowing iron.  
Three words, murmured almost incoherently, perhaps subconsciously. 

She said nothing. She swallowed them, drank in his growing cries, and muffled his groans. She scraped his flesh raw, dragging her hands to his buttocks, encouraging him as best she could. They were taut as he moved, flexing beneath her palms, tensing as she squeezed. He shuddered and whined and panted into her ear like a rabid mutt in heat.  
“Do not.” Edelgard managed to snarl, a flash of clarity breaking through the haze of heat. 

He tore himself away and took himself in his hand—and she watched, rapt, as an agonized grimace flashed across his countenance, as a shuddering groan streamed from his lips.   
She flinched, jerking away as a rope of semi-viscous white fluid spattered against her skin. 

The woman blinked, startled, gingerly touching the string of his seed, and raised her eyes to his. He looked, as she would have expected, mortified. “I…needed to bathe regardless.” She managed to say, smearing the fluid between her fingers. At the very least, he had not released himself within her.

She pressed her lips together and lowered her gaze, watching his manhood lessen with a small measure of interest. After a moment, his timidity returned and he covered it with his hand. “El—Edelgard, I—,”

He meant to apologize. She shook her head, not wishing to hear it. “No.” She lamely slid off the bench, carefully descending to the floor. “After we have departed this building, nothing will have happened. We will both forget—,”

“I do not want to forget.” A hand descended on her shoulder and forcibly turned her to face him. There seemed a fire of resolve burning in his eyes as he peered down at her. But the embers of their kindled passion had dulled, and there was no time left to dwell on idealistic impossibilities. 

She shook off his hand and turned away, fully intent on making her exit. But his words still echoed in her head—the three words he had whispered in the heat of their coupling. He had meant them. Her heart seemed to twist in her chest and she bit her lip. “Then remain here if you wish.” She forced frost into her voice. “But I…”

She stopped herself, knowing well that she could not simply lie. A sigh dragged its way from her throat and she raised her head. “I often cannot sleep.” It was enough of an invitation. The woman rubbed her shoulder and tossed a faint, bitter smile over her shoulder. “Good night, Dimitri.” 

She departed, sticky, coated in a layer of her own cooling sweat—and some of his, and his seed began to dry on her skin. A bath. She truly needed a bath.

**Author's Note:**

> So I still cackle at how overdressed everyone is in the sauna. I'm Ukrainian, we have a sauna in our backyard (That's like the first thing my dad built when we finished building our house) and no one wears that much. I get that anything less would jack up the game's rating, but still, it's funny to me. Back in Russia, and in Finland, people do Sauna in the nude. In America, we're a bit more modest, but still, everyone's at least just in their underwear. 
> 
> So yeah, I was also looking for an excuse to write Dimigard Sauna smut. And Hopefully I actually wrote it ok and not super cheesy
> 
> Aight, I'mma yeet outta here.


End file.
